


don't make a good thing bad

by lilliputianmerriell



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: & a Very Underappreciated Ship, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, a dash of angst, porn with a sprinkle of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 23:19:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14904093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilliputianmerriell/pseuds/lilliputianmerriell
Summary: Shelton’s lips are dry against his when Burgie kisses him, and Burgie marvels at the softness of them as he presses himself closer to Shelton. He would have never imagined a man to have such plush lips, having always thought that such virtues were only reserved for the most beautiful of women.





	don't make a good thing bad

**Author's Note:**

> Reuploaded from [my Tumblr](https://lilliputianmerriell.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> A birthday gift to my good friend [Kay](https://snafusheltoneyes.tumblr.com/) who is always patient with me spamming him with all my shit and always comes with the best advice.

“Ye little, cheatin’ shit!”

The angry shout resonates through the dingy bar, and Burgie is only able to hear what sounds like the beginning of a fight from where he is sitting by himself on the rickety barstool, the crowd filling up the room being too dense to tell who the source of the racket was.

“Ain’t mah fault you’re shit at poker.”

It takes Burgie’s alcohol-addled mind a second to recognise the lazy, insolent drawl, but finds himself taking a particularly long, hearty chug from his pint of beer when he does, hoping maybe that he would find a shroud of patience in the bottom of the glass.

It was their third night in Melbourne and Burgie had already had the joy of discovering and experiencing Shelton’s particular knack for trouble three days in a row, which meant that Burgie had to get him out of trouble for about just as long as their stay there. It wasn’t like Burgie had been naïve to this specific talent of Shelton’s, but it was just that before they had arrived in Melbourne he had never seen the extent of the havoc said trouble could cause when it was combined with booze and poker, which was apparently Shelton’s very own kryptonite. Burgie had done his best to keep an eye on him and distract him from it, particularly the poker, but Shelton always seemed to find a way to plant himself in the midst of all the action anyway. 

There is a furious, wounded howl from the tenant who had been shouting at Shelton, and Burgie downs the rest of his beer and Shelton’s whiskey, that had been sitting there untouched for the past twenty minutes, before he leaves some money on the counter to pay for his and Shelton’s tab.

Just as he puts the money down with a smile in the bartender’s direction, long fingers winds around his biceps and tugs at him, “C’mon, we ought’a go.”

Burgie feels all the alcohol he had been drinking with Shelton earlier in the night rush to his head and limbs as he jumps down from the barstool, and immediately regrets finishing off the last of their drinks as his world tilts slightly on its axis as Shelton steer him through the dense crowd of the bar.

“There he is!”

“Oh, fuck.”

Shelton’s grip on him tightens as he drags him outside into the cool night air. The fresh chill is cold on his skin, though Burgie is only aware of the hot, almost painful, iron grip Shelton has around his biceps as they run away from the large brute that comes barrelling out of the bar after them.

“Get back ‘ere ye fucks!”  

As they round another corner, Burgie finds himself stumbling on the uneven ground, his legs uncooperative and he clutches onto Shelton to prevent himself from falling, his arm finding their way around his narrow waist and gripping tight as they both drag the other along.

Burgie isn’t quite sure how long they run for, but it feels like an eternity before he sees a window of opportunity to escape in the shape of a small alleyway nestled between two tall buildings, barely visible behind a large set of containers.

Without a second thought he pulls Shelton in there with him and pushes him up against the wall enshrouded in shadow, pressing himself against him to make them both as small and hidden as possible.

Both of them stand frozen like that as they listen to the sound of several heavy footsteps and angry shouts pass them by, neither being able to relax before they heard the last set of pounding feet run by their hiding place.

They look at each other then, Shelton’s big eyes are wide and bare, glazed by the alcohol still coursing through his system. Suddenly, the corners of them crinkle and Burgie can feel Shelton’s lithe body start to shake with quiet giggles underneath his palms that are still clutching onto Shelton’s waist.

The laughter is contagious and Burgie finds himself joining in, the adrenaline and excitement of being chased and getting away with it making him jittery and relieved.

He wonders briefly what kind of sight they make. Two drunk marines in their uniforms giggling like naughty children while only inches apart. Hardly an appropriate distance between two comrades, two men. 

Burgie became distinctly aware of their closeness then. The points where their bodies meet and touches. Burgie’s hands on Shelton’s almost dainty waist, Shelton’s hands gripping his arms, his shoulders. If Burgie only took one step forward, their bodies would be perfectly aligned, pressed together chest to chest.

The thought makes something strange twitch in his gut.

Shelton, unaware of Burgie’s train of thought, and oh so impossibly fragile and caring at times, smiles up at Burgie with the kind of smile that lights up his whole face. People who said Shelton was cruel and hard really didn’t know him at all.

Almost as if he knows what is going through Burgie’s head, Shelton’s smiles soften into something happy, relieved, and something else inexplicable all at once, and Burgie feels how Shelton’s hands slowly travel from where they are resting on his biceps and up to that spot where his shoulder meets his neck. Shelton’s hand might as well have been a hot iron in the way it seemed to brand the exposed skin from his open collar.  

Now, Burgie wasn’t an idiot. He had seen how Shelton’s gaze would sometimes linger on some of the men, hungry with the sort of want no man should harbour for another. Burgie had always looked the other way on those occasions, maybe foolishly so because then he might have discovered before now, in his drunken state, that he was on the receiving end of Shelton’s affections as well.

Shelton’s hand that was resting on his neck continue to burn with an almost blistering intensity and Burgie is attempting to make himself to pull away, telling himself that he wasn’t queer, that there was no turning back from whatever sinful thing that was unfolding in the narrow space between himself and Shelton.

Shelton looks at him searchingly, those deep blues darting back and forth between Burgie’s own as he silently asks for Burgie’s permission. He does not make any move on him however as he stands perfectly still where Burgie has pushed him up against the wall, making it clear to Burgie that Shelton was letting him back away at any time.

An unfamiliar temptation was taking shape in Burgie’s mind as he sees Shelton standing there so invitingly caged between his arms. It was whispering seductively in his ear about the possibilities, about the comfort of the touch of another person, telling him that Shelton wanted this. Shelton with his unruly, boyish curls and big eyes. Shelton with the plump lips and small waist, reminiscent of a girl’s that Burgie had once kissed. How was kissing Shelton any different than kissing that girl, or any other girl he might meet at a bar? At least he knew Shelton, his mind reasons, knew that this would be something between the two of them that was not to be shared with the rest of the world.

Shelton’s lips are dry against his when Burgie kisses him, and Burgie marvels at the softness of them as he presses himself closer to Shelton. He would have never imagined a man to have such plush lips, having always thought that such virtues were only reserved for the most beautiful of women.

There is a content hum from Shelton as they kiss languidly, and Burgie feels the grip on his neck loosen and slides all the way around as Shelton secures himself even closer to Burgie, all of them touching now, both radiating an almost unbearable heat. The contact stirs something in the pit of Burgie’s abdomen, and he feels his cock twitch with interest.

The bodily reaction startles him and makes him draw away from those soft lips with a gasp, which is quickly swallowed by Shelton’s mouth as he chases after him hungrily.

He pulls away from him and stares with something akin to bewilderment at his companion, at this person in his arms which is looking at him with a mix of confusion, questioning and apprehension. As if Shelton was expecting a strike to the face perhaps, or maybe thinking Burgie was about to push him away in utter disgust as he realises what he is doing.

Burgie does none of these things however, his mind more concerned with whether he was taking advantage of Shelton, of his willingness and trust in his drunken state.

“’m sorry,” Shelton says softly in a moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability, his eyes wide as he observes the cogs turning in Burgie’s head, sees the concern on his face, “I shouldn’t have –,”

“No,” Burgie protests, his throat feeling dry and scratchy as his cock twitches again while he tries to convey his sincerity with his face while he stares into those unusually worried blue pools, “I want to. ‘Want you to.”

Shelton’s smile is small and careful, a heady mix of relief and excitement, and any doubt Burgie might have evaporates as he captures those plump lips with his again, pushes his tongue inside Shelton’s hot, pliant mouth.

He presses Shelton back up against the wall as they kiss with an almost desperate intensity, his hands that had been resting around Shelton’s waist travelling down to his ass. He gives the globes a firm squeeze, surprising himself with how pleased he feels when he hears the moan that escapes Shelton’s mouth. He does it again, just to hear the other man elicit the same obscene noise as before.

In a particular moment of daringness, he secures his arms underneath Shelton’s thighs and lifts him up against him, so Shelton’s front is flush against his. Burgie takes pleasure in the way Shelton’s long legs wraps around him as he continues to kiss him, feeling Shelton’s throbbing erection pressing against his stomach.

Their kisses have evolved into something almost primal as they mouth at each other, all teeth and tongue as shameless pants escape them while they cling onto the other almost desperately.

Burgie hitches Shelton’s small body further up against him, and the shift of weight makes him stumble backwards until his back hits the brick wall of the other side of the narrow alleyway, all the while Shelton is gripping his face as he bites down on his lip almost painfully.   

“M-Merriell,” Burgie gasps breathlessly, pleadingly, between the wet noises of their lips meeting and parting, not quite sure what he was begging Shelton to do as he looks up at the strangely beautiful face only inches away from his. He can feel warm, panting breaths on his face. Shelton smells like cigarettes, alcohol and rainwater.

Shelton however seems to understand what Burgie tries to tell him, even though Burgie is not even sure what he is asking, and he starts working at the polished buttons of his crisp, pressed shit, exposing more and more skin with each soundless pop of the buttons sliding out of their allocated holes.       

Slender, callused hands roam over his bare chest and Burgie shivers, though he is not quite certain whether it’s from the chill of the night air or the sensations of skin against skin that makes the strain in his pants almost painful in its’ intensity.

There is a moment of silence as Shelton studies him, studies his reaction to each of his touches, probably feels the tent in Burgie’s pants prodding up against his ass, before he practically purrs into Burgie’s ear, “Ya want to le’mme help you with that?”

All Burgie can do is nod as Shelton slides from his grip and back onto the ground, getting to work on opening his belt buckle. The jingling sound of metal is almost deafening in the quiet alley, but Shelton’s fingers are nimble and soon enough Burgie’s gasping hoarsely and writhing underneath those same clever hands as they twist and pull at him.

It is a strange experience, having another man tend to him like this, so intimately and carefully. Burgie would have thought that it would be rough and unloving affair, but Shelton is firm and considerate with each stroke and dip of his hand against his cock. It is almost like he has done this before, Burgie thinks before all thought processes short-circuits with pleasure as Shelton thumbs at the head of his penis, smearing the precum down his shaft and letting his fingers trail over the pulsing, prominent vein there.

Burgie draws him in for another kiss then, this one hard and full of teeth, and he makes Shelton swallow the moans that escapes him as Shelton works him over with surprising dexterity.

It doesn’t take long before Burgie can feel himself getting close, feel himself edging that invisible line before the fall, and he wraps his arms around Shelton to pull him close as he pants wetly into the crook of his neck.

Shelton gently shushes him as he continues to stroke his penis; up-and-down, up-and-down, a clever twist and flick of his wrist, back down again. He gives Burgie’s balls a careful squeeze and it is just enough to push Burgie over that edge, and he feels his whole body tense as he comes all over Shelton’s hand and his own pants, the euphoric, tingling sensations spreading all the way to his fingertips.

He is so very tempted to sag against Shelton’s chest as post-ejaculation sleepiness threatens to catch up to him, to let the other man hold onto him as he relaxes for a bit, but as he finishes spilling all over himself and Shelton, a certain clarity of what had just transpired between them sets off a snowball of anxiety in his mind. 

What was he doing, using Shelton like this, taking advantage of him in his drunken state. What was he doing with Shelton at all, he wasn’t queer. Oh god, if anyone ever found out they would probably be shot right where they stood, dishonourably discharged by a bullet right between the eyes. Shelton would be dead, and that blood would be on Burgie’s hands. 

There is a long, uncomfortable moment of silence, and then Shelton is frowning at him with concern but before he can open his mouth to voice it, Burgie pulls his pants up and buckles up his belt without a word, not quite sure what to say to him now that they had breached some sort of new boundary in their friendship.

He doesn’t seem quite able to meet Shelton’s eyes as he mutters some half-assed excuse about having to sleep off the alcohol before morning, though he doesn’t miss the look of hurt flashing across Shelton’s face as Burgie escapes their small hiding spot with his shoulders heavy with shame.

Shelton doesn’t return to their accommodations before in the wee hours of morning, many hours after Burgie himself had returned to their bunks. The sound of rustling of sheets and blankets eases some of the fear and Burgie had felt growing over the course of the night due to Shelton’s continued absence, but his guilt was as strong and present as ever.

Burgie turns around on his bunk to say something, to apologise maybe, but the words seem to wither in his mouth and turn to ash as nothing feels right enough to mend whatever thing had broken between them. All he is able to do is stare at Shelton’s back as the other man feigns sleep until roll call the next morning.

Shelton is avoiding him for most of that morning, his eyes downcast for the majority of it as he attends to his duties and training with an unusual diligence. It comes as a surprise to everyone, and concern to some, and Burgie watches from his spot on the lawn where he is scrubbing oil drums as Captain Haldane pulls Shelton aside. He cannot hear the conversation but there is a lot of fidgeting on Shelton’s part before Ack-Ack eventually dismisses him with a hearty clap on Shelton’s skinny shoulder who finally cracks a small smile.

After that Shelton seems to be back to his usual ways as he shoots the shit with Jay, laughs as Gunny is ripping some particularly foolish marines a new one, and cracks jokes about the MPs who are watching them like vultures in the Sahara dessert.

He continues to avoid Burgie however, though Burgie was starting to wonder whether Shelton was expecting him to make the first move as he kept catching Shelton glancing over at him with apprehension and anticipation when he thinks Burgie isnt’t paying attention.

It was as if Shelton was just waiting for Burgie to out him for his preferences, as if Burgie hadn’t participated in the action as well. In fact, Burgie thinks, it had been his fault that it had happened. He had initiated it after Shelton tried to back away from it all. It had been Burgie who had urged Shelton to keep going, never stopping him or protesting as Shelton had wanked him off good and proper.

They were both aware that it had been a one-off affair, but what had ruined it had been Burgie’s cowardice afterwards. However, fooling around like that was not something that was significant enough to lose the trust of a skilled marine and close friend over. 

Because of this, Burgie certainly feels like it was only fair that it should be him to break this strange spell between them. The guilt that had been building since last night is eating away at him, but he was still unable to find the right words to say to Shelton without sounding heartless and cruel.

The hours went by as he keeps pondering on the right words to say to Shelton, but he was starting to worry that he was getting to that point in time where whatever he said to Shelton would be meaningless as he is spending too long in this limbo to return to the easy companionship they had shared before.

It is well into the afternoon before they are dismissed from the glare of the blistering sun, and Burgie is no closer to confronting Shelton when he and some of the other men find themselves crammed onto a cattle car bouncing merrily along towards the city centre of Melbourne.

Shelton was laboriously counting his Australian money that was sitting in the palm of his hand, when one of the other men asks him how much money he’s got with him.

There is a long silence as Shelton counts over the change in his hand once more, his lips moving silently as he tries to sort the foreign currency out in his head, “I t’ink I got maybe aroun’ two pounds and ten ounces – plenty much for some drinks an’ poker, eh?”

Even though it is said jokingly he might just as well have been speaking directly to Burgie as he answers the man’s question, his face tugging into a challenging smirk that he knew antagonized most men enough to elicit a response from them.

All of Burgie’s well-thought out apologies and arguments seem to go straight out of the window as Burgie catches onto to underlying implications of Shelton’s answer, hears the silent forgiveness for what it is, and he realises that fancy words are useless on this man anyway and the quip that comes next is almost automatic;

“You know what you are, Shelton?” he says, and leans forward to gaze directly into Shelton’s big, giddy eyes, sees him chew on his plush lips anxiously as he waits for Burgie to continue, “You are just one big snafu lookin’ for a place to happen.” 

The name feels right to Burgie, it fits him he decides, and judging by the blinding smile that spreads over the newly baptised Snafu’s face, so does Snafu. While it wasn’t exactly the apology Burgie had been searching for within himself he knows that it was enough for now, and he silently vows to do his best to keep Snafu out of too much trouble from then on out.

It is only months that feel like years later, at Peleliu Islands, when a certain marine with hair that looked like wildfire rescues Snafu’s life and that Burgie learns that trouble could come in all shapes and forms, and that Snafu Shelton probably does not want Burgie to intrude on him getting involved in the particular trouble that comes in the shape of one Eugene Sledge.

And if Burgie feels a surge of jealousy that one time he catches them nestled between the dense trees at Pavuvu, he decides to keep that secret to himself.


End file.
